


Do whatever you need to do (to make yourself whole again)

by not_a_total_basket_case



Series: Song Fics [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_a_total_basket_case/pseuds/not_a_total_basket_case
Summary: Clarke is in a bad place and Bellamy just wants to help his best friend.





	Do whatever you need to do (to make yourself whole again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harpermcintyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harpermcintyre/gifts).



> Very loosely based off the lyrics to Natalya by Dave Malloy but _slightly_ less angsty and ended up a little (lot) off topic with lyrics peppered through! So sorry if this has turned out a total mess.
> 
> This is a Bellarke Secret Valentine's for @diyozas on tumblr! I'm sorry it's a little late and a lot angsty and I hope you like! ♡♡♡

**** Bellamy has been in love with Clarke for a while. He can’t say exactly when he realised because her friendship has always been such a huge part of his life. The natural transgression is for him to fall in love with her. Or at least, that’s how he feels. 

They’d gone to school together since they were seven and nine. Clarke had pushed him over one day when she thought he was the one being mean to Jasper and Monty. But it wasn’t him and when she found out, she’d actually come and apologised, which had been a huge deal to nine-year-old Bellamy. He would have been too scared to apologise to someone two years older than him. 

They hadn’t become friends immediately after that. It wasn’t until three years later when Bellamy had seen Dax and Mbege trying to snatch her sketchbook off her. He’d stepped in, using his middle school status to scare them off. 

The friendship had grown as they grew. Until now at twenty-five and twenty-seven, they’re as close as they’ve ever been. She’s the one who was there for him when he lost his mother and had to raise his fourteen-year-old sister. She’d been there every time he didn’t know how to handle something with her. She’d been the one to convince him to put himself through college once Octavia finished high school. She’d been there for him every time he’s needed her.

Clarke is his best friend, full of life and happiness and fun. She’s been his saving grace on so many occasions and he doesn’t even know what he’d have done without her. They live together, they spend all their time together, he almost felt like they were inevitable. 

Until Clarke started going down a path he can’t agree with. He loves her, so much, but seeing her self destruct the way she is terrifies him. And he doesn’t know how to help her. She won’t let him. 

\----

“Hey Bellamy,” Clarke calls from the couch when he gets home after work on Friday night. He’s surprised to see her there. Lately, she’s been gone by now. 

“Hey,” he says, dropping down beside her. “Home tonight?”

“For a bit,” she says, leaning on him and wrapping her arms around him. It’s so hard to not be in love with her when she is all casual affection like this. When she always has an excuse to touch or hug or just be close to him. “I’ve missed you.”

“Hard to hang out when you’re never home,” Bellamy mutters, leaning into her. It’s unfair and he knows it. He regrets his words the second he sees the hurt on Clarke’s face. But it’s true. She just hasn’t had the time for him anymore and she won’t explain to him why. That’s hurting him. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, looking away from him. He wants to kick himself because he knows she’s sorry. He even half knows why she is doing what she’s doing. She lost her dad, she lost Wells and her mother isn’t in a good place and it all happened in the space of six months. Her life is falling apart and really he’s lucky that she’s not pushing him away completely. That would be worse. 

“I know, Clarke,” Bellamy whisper softly, pressing his lips to the top of her head. It’s all he really allows. Because it could pass for platonic and he knows she doesn’t want more. Not now. And he’s not going to push her. He wouldn’t do that.

“I’m just going out with Raven tonight though,” Clarke says softly. “I won’t be late.” 

Raven is just as worried about Clarke as he is, so Bellamy is glad that she’s spending the night with her. She’ll look out for her. 

It’s not like he has anything against Clarke going out and having fun and spending the night with different people. He’s fine with that. She’s an adult who can make her own choices. He’s more worried about the fact that she won’t talk to anyone. The fact that she’s dropped out of school, despite how much she loved it. Clarke had always been open in their friendship, sharing what was on her mind and seeking advice frequently. It’s unlike her to keep it to herself and it’s worrying. It’s been months and he’s scared she’s going to explode. And that she won’t let him pick up the pieces.

She sits with him to watch an episode of the TV show that they’d been watching a few weeks ago and haven’t had time to catch up on. She leans into him, her head on his shoulder and it’s so comfortable that for a moment he’s able to forget all his concerns. But then when it finishes she gets up to get ready and he sighs. 

Bellamy wants to ask her to stay. To spend the night together like they haven’t in so long. But he knows she won’t. He knows it’s unfair to do so. So he keeps his mouth shut, instead focussing on the game he’s switched to playing. 

She squeezes his arm on the way out the door, as though she knows he wants her to stay. But then she’s gone. And he’s left staring at the TV, the desire to play his game gone. 

\----

He’s only just fallen asleep when he wakes up to a call from Raven. 

“What is it?” He mumbles, after fumbling for the phone and almost missing the call.

“Will you come get Clarke?” Raven asks. She sounds frustrated. Raven is a good friend but her patience doesn’t last as long as Bellamy’s. 

“What’s up?” He asks, already clambering out of bed and pulling on sweatpants. 

“I’ve been trying to leave for over an hour,” Raven sighs. “But she won’t come. I need to get home and I don’t want to leave her here on her own.” 

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he says, grabbing a shirt off the back of a chair on his way into the living room. “Thanks for calling.” 

He makes the drive over in ten minutes, pulling his car into the empty car park and stepping into the cold. He didn’t even think to grab a jacket, he just wanted to get here. 

He finds Clarke sitting at the bar with Raven standing beside her, trying to get her off the stool. But Clarke has the look of resolve on her face that he’s come to know so well.

“I got this,” he tells Raven. “You can head out if you want.” 

“You don’t deserve him, Griffin,” Raven says softly, looking at Clarke and Bellamy knows there is something more to the words than he’s hearing. Something they were probably talking about before he got there. 

Raven is wrong though. Clarke has done so much for him. He doesn’t mind repaying the favour. 

“Want to tell me what’s up?” He asks when Raven had triple checked he’s alright with her and gotten in a cab home. Clarke still hasn’t said anything to him. And she won’t meet his eye. 

“Nothing,” Clarke says moodily. “I just wasn’t ready to come home.” 

“It’s late,” Bellamy says. “Come on, I’ll drive you.” 

“Stay,” she asks, finally looking up at him. “Just for a drink. I miss you.” 

She can’t know that her words have him melting and of course he’s going to stay. He just wants to spend time with his best friend.

“One drink,” he says, holding out his pinky finger. It’s something they’ve done since they were kids. You can’t break a pinky promise. And neither of them ever had. “And then we’re going home.”

“Fine,” Clarke sighs dramatically, latching her finger with his and calling over the bartender. 

They don’t talk about whatever is on Clarke’s mind. But that’s okay, because they do talk. And she’s laughing and telling him stories and it’s almost as if there is nothing wrong. It’s like they were not even six months ago. 

But then it’s time to go home and Clarke reluctantly gets up and follows him to his car. She falls asleep on the drive home and he half carries her inside. She’s asleep again almost immediately. 

\----

He wakes up to the sound of someone moving in the kitchen and for a second he panics. But then he hears Clarke swear. It’s been a long time since she’s been out of bed before him, much less as a functioning person. He lays in bed for a second, listening to the sounds of her moving and revelling in the fact that she’s doing something. The soft smile on his lips can’t be contained.

She can’t cook though, so Bellamy hauls himself out of bed to help her. 

“Good morning,” she says when she sees him. He struggles to hold back a sigh because Clarke has made pancakes. And she  _ really _ doesn’t know what she’s doing. There is mess everywhere but she’s smiling. And he doesn’t have it in him to be mad at something that makes her smile. Especially when they’re so few and far between. 

“Morning,” Bellamy says, his voice teasingly cautious. She knows her cooking is a disaster. But she doesn’t let it stop her. Determination is something Clarke never lacked in. “What are you doing to my kitchen?”

“Our kitchen,” she corrects him. “I’m making breakfast.”

“You use it once a year,” he grins. “It’s totally my kitchen.”

“Whatever,” Clarke grins. “Shut up and sit down and I’ll get you some rubber pancakes.” 

“How are you this bad at cooking?” He smirks, sitting down and watching her serve up his food.

“How are you this annoying?”

“Pass me my rubber pancakes,” he says, ignoring her question. She passes him a plate and a mug of coffee, which he knows is going to be good. She makes incredible coffee.

She sits down next to him and they fall into easy conversation, once again about nothing serious. But she seems happy. Which is all Bellamy wants for his best friend.

Her pancakes really are rubbery which he just doesn’t understand, but they taste alright and it’s another moment they can spend time together. Where everything is okay and he’s not worried about her. Which they end up doing for the entire day. Clarke has a headache, so they don’t do much. But they play board games and watch a movie and it’s nice. 

She falls asleep leaning on him in the late afternoon and he can’t bring himself to move. It has nothing to do with being in love with her and everything to do with the fact that he knows she has nightmares when she’s alone. He knows his presence is comforting, generally cheerful where she is dark. He just wants it to be enough to bring her back to herself. She’s drowning and he doesn’t know what to do.

Bellamy knows that’s it’s not entirely up to him to help Clarke, but she’s always been the one who’s able to snap him out of it when he needs it. She knows the right things to say and when to say it. And it’s killing him that he can’t do the same for her. He can’t pull her back. He doesn’t know how to help her. 

And because he’s a man of limited self control, he presses his lips to the top of her head again. A gesture of love and kindness and hope that she’s going to be okay.

\----

Bellamy doesn’t really see Clarke during the week. He knows she’s still working because she’s still covering her share of the rent or bills, but he hasn’t known her to work as late as she has been. She gets home after nine most nights and disappears into her room. And he’s said it once, he’s said it a million, he’s worried about her.

“I just know that she’s in a bad place,” Bellamy mutters. He’s at Murphy’s house, laying on the couch dramatically while Murphy cooks. 

“We’ve all been in bad places,” Murphy says not unkindly, just the unabashed way he normally speaks. “We can help her.”

“She doesn’t want the help though,” Bellamy sighs. “I can’t help someone if they won’t let me.” 

“Then you just need to be there for her,” Murphy shrugs. Bellamy didn’t really want the person who sought advice from to be Murphy, but he was the one that figured Bellamy was in love with Clarke in the first place. He has the most context on the issue. And he can't even deny it. Murphy knows what he's talking about.

“I am being there for her. She doesn’t even want that.” 

“You just have to keep doing that.”

“What if I’m not the one that can help?” Bellamy asks. It’s one of the things that he’s most worried about. It’s easy enough to say that he’s going to be there for Clarke, but what if it’s just not enough? What if he can’t help her that way? What if she finds someone else?

“Don’t be dumb,” Murphy rolls his eyes. “You two are stupid in love with each other. She’s just going through a rough patch. What was it? Six months ago she lost her dad?” 

“Almost,” Bellamy agrees. It’ll be six months in two weeks time. “And then she lost Wells and her mum chose everything but Clarke.”

“Sucks,” Murphy nods. “Lucky she has a group of friends who love and support her and a roommate willing to do anything for her.” 

\----

While Murphy’s words don’t really solve anything, they do serve to remind him what he can do. So he starts making sure her favourite foods are stocked up and that there is always cold water in the fridge (she loves it but always leaves the jug empty). He makes sure the place is tidier and it’s not long before he starts to notice a change in the way Clarke is acting. She’s a little calmer, a little chirpier and a little more like the friend he was worried about losing.

But she’s still not back to her old self. Still not ready to go back to school, still going out all weekend. Still refusing to talk to Bellamy about what's on her mind, despite his attempts to get her to open up until he decided he needed to back off a little. He doesn’t want Clarke to never talk to him again. 

On the six month anniversary of the death of her father, Bellamy comes home to Clarke dressed and about to walk out the door and he can't hold it in anymore. 

Before he can help himself, he grabs her wrist, effectively blocking her way out of the apartment. The tension in the air is palpable. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly. 

“Peachy,” she says, pulling at her arm. He knows she wants to go and he knows he should just let her. But it’s been six months and she’s not spoken to anyone.

“You’re not,” Bellamy tells her. “Why are you pushing me away?” 

“I’m not,” she says. She’s not looking at him and he thinks she might be crying but months of emotions and worries are threating to spill out and he can’t leave it like this any longer. They need to talk. For both of their sakes. 

“You are,” Bellamy insists, gently tugging her inside and shutting the door. She doesn’t resist this time, but she doesn’t look at him. “You won’t talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t need to be worried about me,” Clarke says, her voice firm. “I can take care of myself.” 

“You can’t keep everything inside you like this,” Bellamy snaps at her, harsher than he meant to. “You’re going to burst and you’re not going to let me pick up the pieces.”

“I’m not,” she snaps back. “I’m handling it.”  

‘Which is why you’re going out tonight instead?” 

“Instead of what Bellamy?” She asks, finally looking at him. He was right. She is crying. “Instead of staying home and crying and wishing things were different? I don’t want to do that. I know what day it is and that’s not how I want to deal with it.” 

“You don’t have to sit at home and cry,” Bellamy says. He’s taken aback by her harsh words but he kind of expected it. He knew she was going out to try and escape. It’s what she had been doing for months now.

“What would you suggest then?” Clarke snaps. Her eyes are glassy but this conversation has been coming too long for Bellamy to stop now. His emotions are running high too and he doesn’t know how to back off. 

“I don’t know,” he cries. “Scream off a cliff? Run through the rain? Eat three pints of ice cream? Talk to me? Do whatever you can to make yourself right again.”  

“Make myself right again?” She asks and he already wants to take back the words. She looks so hurt and he knows he shouldn’t have said it like that. 

“Not right,” he says, shaking his head and trying to backpedal. “Just so you can feel better.”

“No,” Clarke says. “I know what you meant. I’m broken and you don’t like it.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Bellamy says quickly, trying to pull her close with the wrist he’s still holding. She’s standing her ground now, pulling against him. “You’re not broken. I just want to help.” 

“I don’t need your help, Bellamy.” She says, taking a step away from him. He releases his fingers from her wrist, closing his eyes as he lets her go. 

“I know you don’t need it,” Bellamy whispers. “But I want to help you.” 

“Because I’m so broken?” She turns towards the door and pulls it open but she doesn’t step outside.

“No,” he says. “Because you’re not happy and I don’t like seeing you like this.” 

“Whatever,” Clarke mutters. “I don’t need you to fix me. I’m doing fine.” He can tell that even she doesn’t think that. But he doesn’t want to say it to her. Not when they’re fighting. 

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” he whispers. He wants to ask her to stay so they can make this better but he doesn’t have the right. 

“Goodbye,” she slams the door shut and she’s gone. 

Bellamy stares at the wood of the door, where she’s just disappeared through. He’s fucked up. He’s fucked up bad. He has no idea how to fix this because he knew that wasn’t what she needed to hear. It wasn’t the time to try and talk to her. He said things that while were true, weren’t things he should have said today. Not the anniversary of her father's death. 

“Fuck,” he says, drawing out the syllables in the words and collapsing at one of the mismatched chairs of their dining table. The one they had seen on the side of the road and Clarke insisted they could fix it up. So they’d conned Miller into coming to help them collect it. Bellamy wanted to go home and wait until Miller finished work but Clarke had fallen in love with the table and didn’t want anyone else to take. Which is how they ended up sitting on a table on the side of the road for hours waiting for Miller. 

When they’d gotten it home neither of them had any idea how to fix it up and even after watching more YouTube tutorials than he really wants to admit, they were still making it up as they went. They got paint everywhere, sanded some patches too much and others not enough but by the time they finished they were both in love. 

It was theirs. They made it together. They found chairs that could pass as matching at various thrift stores until they had a fully mismatched set that they both loved. 

He has to be able to fix this. He has to make sure Clarke is okay. 

They’ve never really fought before, normally opting for talking things through calmly and while their argument wasn’t particularly bad, it wasn’t resolved. She’d left angry when she was already sad and he feels like the worst person in the world for making her feel that way. When he should have been comforting her. He wants to be the person who is there for her today, instead of whoever she’s going out to see.

He knows he should have offered to do something with her during the week tonight. He could have stepped in before she left. He could have spoken to her differently and she might have stayed. There are a million different things he could have done that might of resulted in her not walking out that door mad at him. But he didn’t do them.

And now he doesn’t know how to fix this.

He’s scared that he’s lost her forever. 

\----

Clarke doesn’t come home that night. He texts Raven and asks her to make sure she’s safe and Raven says she is. But Clarke still doesn’t reply to his texts so it does nothing to ease his anxiety. 

He sleeps on and off throughout the night on the couch, alternating between waiting up for her and hoping that he’ll wake up when she comes home. But she doesn’t. The sun rises and she’s still not there and he can’t sleep anymore, so he gets up and makes coffee instead. 

Morning comes and goes and she still doesn’t get home. He makes lunch and doesn’t eat it. Just sits at the table picking at it and debating sending her another message, another apology or question of where she is, if she’s safe, when the door finally swings open.

He looks up, half expecting it to be someone else. But it’s not. Clarke is standing there, looking a little awkward and a lot dishevelled. But she’s there. She’s home and she’s safe.

“Clarke,” he whispers, standing up but not moving towards her. He doesn’t know if she’s still angry at him. If she even wants to speak to him. 

“Hi,” she says. She doesn’t move from where she’s standing and she doesn’t make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry. I should have replied.” 

“Raven did,” he says, holding up his phone and probably visibly sagging in relief. At least she doesn't hate him. “I’m so sorry too. I shouldn’t have said what I said last night.”

“You should have,” Clarke says softly. “You were right.” 

“I-” Bellamy stops. It’s not what he expected to hear, considering how long she had stayed out and how angry she was. How much she hates admitting she was wrong. He didn’t even think she would talk to him. “What?” 

“I went out with my friend, Niylah, last night. I fully intended to bitch about you all night,” Clarke says, laughing a little and clearly embarrassed. “But when I told her what happened she told me you were right. And then I was mad at her too.”

She tells Bellamy how she’d left Niylah for hours, making friends with some girls in the bathroom who just wanted to party with her. She didn’t have to think. But then Niyah had found her again and taken her home and told Clarke she was spiralling and she couldn't keep going this way. How she had told her too many people care about her to see her hurting like this. 

“She sat me down and made me see it,” Clarke said. “She made me see that I’ve been pushing you away and not treating you right and dealing with everything terribly and I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Clarke,” Bellamy tells her. 

“It’s not,” she shakes her head. “You’ve done nothing but try to help me and I haven’t let you. You’ve been such a good friend. I don’t deserve it.” 

“You do,” he insists, finally stepping forward. She meets him in the middle and he wraps her up in a hug. “You’re a little messy right now,” he says and she lets out a watery laugh. “But that’s not all you are.” 

His arms still wrapped around her, he tells her all the good things she is. He tells her that she’s warm and strong and kind and determined and a terrible cook, who makes great coffee. He reminds her of the good things she’s done. He doesn’t want her to forget who she really is. 

“I’m going to do better,” she whispers into his chest. “I’m not in a good place and I need my best friend back. I thought you’d get sick fo me.”

“You never lost me,” he tells her. He’s only wearing a worn cotton shirt and he can feel her tears soaking through. He ignores the wetness in his own eyes. “I don’t ever want to get sick of you. I never will.”

“I was so scared you did, when I realised I was pushing you away, I was so scared I lost you,” she says quietly, her breath catching as she looks up to meet his eyes. They are shining and so are his but it doesn’t matter. “It made me realise something else.”

“What?” He asks. Her face is so close to his and even though it can’t be possible, he feels like she’s about to confess something.

“I love you. I probably always have,” she says it simply, as though she’s not expecting a response. “I know it’s probably not the right time to tell you and you probably just think I’m a huge mess right now. But you’re not just my best friend and I wasn’t just pushing you away because I didn’t want your help. I was pushing you away because I love you and I don’t deserve you. And it’s fine if you don’t love me back because as long as you’re my friend I have everything I need.”

“Clarke,” he says quietly, dropping his forehead against hers. “You’re not just my best friend either. I love you too.” 

“You do?” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. 

“I do,” he says. 

Neither of them say anything for a moment. They just stand in the kitchen, wrapped in each other, foreheads pressed together, revelling in what they’d both just confessed. He doesn’t care that she’s a mess, he loves her anyway. He cares that she loves him back. He cares that she wants to do better. He cares that she’s going to be okay.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, breaking the silence between them with her soft, tentative question. 

He doesn’t answer but moves his hand to her cheeks and angling her face so he can press her lips to hers. He catches her bottom lip in his and smiles as she runs her hands up his back and into his hair. The kiss gentle and soft and questioning. Learning each other in a way they don’t know yet. It’s a promise of what to come. It’s  _ I’m okay  _ and  _ I love you  _ and  _ it’s always been you _ . It’s a million different things and when they break apart they’re both smiling.

“It’s going to get better,” she tells him, only pulling back far enough that she can look at him while she speaks. “I’m going to let you help me. I’m going to stop self-destructing.”

And he knows it’s going to take time. She’s not going to get better overnight. It’s probably going to be hard. But it’s worth it.

Because he loves her and she loves him.

He leans down, kissing the top of her head. 

“We’re in this  _ together. _ ” 

**Author's Note:**

> I changed everything about this at least three times. It's nothing like what I started (which was in canon). 
> 
> I’m a sucker for Bellamy kissing the top of Clarke’s head. That’s my jam. And these lyrics are perfect for that!  
> Bellamy is also a drama queen, but we love him for it! 
> 
> [My tumblr is here!](raven-reyes-of-sunshine.tumblr.com)


End file.
